Diving Into Him by Elizabeth Barone Page A

out the final chorus of the encore song they had prepared just in case. She didn’t expect the crowd at The Groggy Frogg to want them to play another song, but she wanted to be ready. As she prepared to let out the last line of the song, the piano faltered, then stopped altogether.
    Lowering the microphone, she turned and glanced at Max. He sat slumped over the piano, his chin tucked into his chest.
    “Max,” she yelled into the microphone.
    He jumped. Head bobbing, he looked around the room. Bleary eyes finally settled on hers. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
    “We’ve got to run through this set at least two more times.” Jett pointed the microphone at him. “Go get yourself a coffee if you can’t stay awake.”
    Stretching, Max yawned. He got up from his seat. “Anyone else want some?” He stumbled toward Perry’s kitchen, another yawn rolling from his mouth.
    “You might as well just bring the whole box in here.” Jett glanced at her own empty cup. Her eyes felt as if they were made of sandpaper. She was glad that they had stopped at a drive-thru for the box of coffee. Perry didn’t even have a toaster, never mind a coffee pot.
    Thankfully, he had cleaned up his apartment a little for them. No empty bottles of alcohol littered the floor. With the lack of furniture, there was plenty of room to set up. Perry hadn’t gotten his electricity turned back on, but he had run an extension cord to an outlet in the hallway that was on the second floor’s bill. So far, no one had caught on. Normally, Jett wouldn’t have approved of stealing, but she definitely wasn’t going to pay Perry’s bill.
    “Cigarette break,” Griff said, putting his drumsticks down. He stood, stretched, then ambled toward the front door.
    Perry stretched out on the floor. Slinging an arm over his face, he closed his eyes. His chest rose and fell slowly.
    Wishing she could take a cat nap so easily, Jett put her microphone back in its stand. Reaching toward the ceiling, she stretched the muscles in her back and neck.
    “Do you think we’re ready?” Koty asked.
    She turned toward the sound of his voice. He stood several feet away from her, his guitar hanging around his neck by its strap. Avoiding his eyes, she nodded. “As ready as we’re going to be.” Nibbling on the inside of her cheek, she looked down at the set list at her feet. She yawned, fatigue crushing her from the inside out. They probably didn’t need to practice anymore, but with the show less than twenty-four hours away, she wanted to make sure that they had it down.
    “I think everyone’s exhausted.” Koty plucked a few chords on his guitar.
    Nodding, she pulled her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans and looked at the time. Her eyes widened. “It’s almost two in the morning.”
    “Let’s go home,” he said. He lifted his guitar over his head. Leaning it against his amplifier, he stifled a yawn. He took a step toward her. “You’re going to need all the rest you can get.”
    “Aren’t we all?” Perry crooned. “I can’t play a show with bags under my eyes. Women don’t like men who look like meth addicts.”
    Jett rolled her eyes, biting back a sarcastic response. She sighed. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, Koty was right. Shifting from foot to foot, she considered her options. She could always call a last minute rehearsal right before the show, when they were all fresh. Or she could push them to run through the set one more time, and then they would have almost the entire next day to rest. She cleared her throat.
    Before she could say anything, Max shambled into the living room. Coffee splotched his shirt in a Rorschach pattern. His empty hands stretched out in front of him for balance.
    “Did you spill your entire cup on yourself?” Jett asked. She nibbled on her lower lip.
    Max slumped down on the bench at the piano. His head lolled.
    Jett sighed. “Okay, guys. Let’s call it a night.”
    * * * * *
    The next twenty-four hours passed in a